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CHAPTER 26
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Luke had half-expected them both to be thrown in the brig. Instead they were shown to the standard quarters, Han's just a short distance from Luke's, as any military aide would be—as if nothing was amiss.
It was past midnight ship's time, but the officer who accompanied them politely enquired whether they needed food sent to their quarters. He hadn't comment on either's clothes, but simply added that fresh uniforms would be delivered as soon as possible…and was there anything else he could help them with, before they retired for the night?
It was Han who had stepped forward and asked the question, all business: General Antilles had personal effects onboard the Destroyer they'd brought in, and Han would need access back onboard first thing tomorrow, to retrieve them. Not his own belongings—that was what had made Luke blink, though he hadn't been as obvious as turning.
It wasn't as if Luke had anything with him that—
His chin had twitched, though his face remained emotionless as the officer offered to have a droid or a tech retrieve the items. Han tilted his head and put his best sabacc smile on, voice shaded with over-officious conceit and just a hint of injured pride; No, thanks. He was the General's personal aide; it was his job.
The unknown officer narrowed his eyes a fraction, clearly having seen way too many self-important military climbers in his time, but nodded nonetheless.
And look at them—minutes back, already neck-deep in trouble, and still apparently digging that hole…
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Alone in the assigned quarters, Luke considered walking calmly back out of the door, to see whether the two guards coincidentally on watch a short distance down the corridor outside would try to stop him. He could already sense Han's cautious bewilderment from across the hallway, and knew that Han was wondering the same.
Stood close to the door as he weighed his options, Luke caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the standard mirror which was mounted there, in every officer's quarters. With his hair cut short enough that its natural color was once again predominant, and his eyes somehow strangely unfamiliar now in pale, soft blue, he looked seventeen. Mara was right; without the harsh colors and wild hair to hide behind he looked less assured, less edgy.
He looked like the kid who had lived in Palpatine's shadow.
He stared for a long time. Eventually, still staring, he stepped back a few paces to sit on the edge of the bed…
He was woken by the chime of the outer door, and realized that at some point exhaustion must have taken over and he'd dropped onto his side, one foot still on the floor as if ready to run, and slept. He rose slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment as reality sank in about him again. It lay heavier on his shoulders than he'd expected, the realization of where he was. The dull acceptance of it.
Rising he padded to the door, where a pewter-finish protocol droid stood to unnatural attention, alone in the corridor—the guards were gone. "General Antilles? I have your uniform, sir. It was delivered a few moments ago, when the SSD Executor docked."
As Luke took it, he realized that the droid had actually given him one of his own all-black Ubiqtorate uniforms, which must have been sent over from his old quarters onboard the Executor…
Which could mean only one thing; he was expected to step into this uniform and into his old life, and go and find his Master…right now.
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It was funny, the first place he chose to go, when dressed. Even knowing that Palpatine would be waiting—and the arrival of his uniform had been a none-too-subtle indicator of that—the place that Luke automatically made a beeline for was Han's quarters, down the battleship-gray hallway. It just seemed…natural. As if no time at all had elapsed since the last time that they were together onboard some other Star Destroyer, before Corsin and Palpatine's death and the Empire's fracture. As if nothing had changed between that moment and this.
Here he was, in the wrong yet again, and knowing that he would need to face Palpatine. So he'd fallen instantly back to the old habit of first seeking out reassurance from the one person whom he knew he could always trust to at the very least be willing to stand in the great big hole that he'd dug this time, alongside him.
He paused a moment, concentrating on his immediate surroundings, then pressed the door release to watch Han scrabbling a small tech crate under his bed, then pause, seeing who it was.
"Kuso, would you just learn to knock, once in a while?! I nearly had a heart attack."
Luke let his head drop a fraction to the side. "You know they have surveillance on this room, right? Not right now, I just deactivated it—crushed the system boards—but all the rest of the time you've been in here."
"Hey, I picked it up, stuffed it into some other things from your room in the medibay, and brought it all here in a crate I carried the whole time. Haven't taken it out once, and nobody saw it."
"You shouldn't have gone to get it."
"They would've found it anyway, soon enough."
"But now you've made it relevant. Now you've made it mean something."
Han paused, his face so clearly communicating the unspoken words…Doesn't it?
Luke glanced away. "You should take it back to Leia."
"Give it to her yourself, next time you see her."
Luke shook his head, though he couldn't help but let the smallest smile come to his lips at his friend's insistence. That was all the encouragement Han needed, to pull the small crate out again and rifle through it.
"Here."
He rose, holding out the lightsaber—Luke's father's lightsaber. Luke remained still, eyes not wavering from it, though he didn't reach out his hand.
"You know I could have gone back at any time and got the lightsaber myself, and nobody would ever have been any the wiser, don't you?"
"You could have, but I know you. You're stubborn enough that you wouldn't, just to prove some kinda point…" Han paused. "Wait a minute—is that what you were gonna do?"
Luke didn't look to him. "Maybe, I dunno…and I guess we never will now, will we?"
Han hesitated for a second, searching Luke's eyes, then shook his head quickly. "Just take the damn lightsaber, before I'm tempted to use it on you."
Luke hesitated, mood darkening. "I can't take it now. I'm going over to the Executor, to speak to Palpatine."
"Now? He's here?"
"The Executor's docked, yes."
"What're you gonna say?"
Luke shook his head slowly, eyes still on his father's lightsaber.
Han sighed, turning the hilt over in his hands for a moment, then lifted his head. "So why d'you come in here first?"
"I figured I'd make one last attempt to get you to leave."
"Really? You really want your first act back here to be smuggling someone out?"
"You act like I could possibly make it any worse, at this point."
"…We could both leave."
Luke reached up to rub at the tense skin about his eyes with the heels of his hands, then across his shorn hair. "You're right, that could actually make it worse."
"No, I meant—"
"I know." He stepped forward slightly, coming to a decision. "Give me that, I'll put it in my quarters. If they find it, they find it. We'll likely be onboard the Executor before nightfall one way or another, anyway."
"One way or another being in our old quarters or in the brig, right?"
Luke tilted his head in acknowledgment. "Like I said, I don't think the saber could make this any worse, right now."
Han relinquished the saber. "You're gonna have to work out something to say to him, you know that."
Luke shrugged. "Pre-arranged speeches tend not to go down that well. He likes to think he has you on the back foot. If I go in pre-prepared, then he'll dig deeper and try harder, to get the edge. I'd rather he think he has the high ground early on, and not look any more deeply."
Han remained silent; there was little point in arguing anything now.
"See you onboard," Luke said, turning. He paused at the door. "Oh, if more than two stormtroopers come to escort you over to the Executor, I'd go as far as the shuttle with them, then shoot them and take off."
"What am I supposed to shoot 'em with?"
Luke loosed a laconic grin. "I'm assuming they'll both have E-elevens. That's three people and two blasters in an enclosed space. You've done better than that with worse odds."
"Thanks," Han said dryly.
Luke shrugged. "Could'a left any time, Han."
"No," Han said with quiet certainty. "I couldn't."
Luke nodded once, and left without another word.
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Stepping off onto the pristine, subtly gleaming deck of the SSD Executor, Luke felt…what? He didn't even know.
He knew the path between here and the Emperor's apartments—knew that with his eyes closed. He knew the number of guards that would be on duty. He knew the names of the officers who would be on watch right now. He knew the battery compliments, the shield tiling, the lateral boundary limits, the flank blind-spots, power displacement, enfilade fire zone, repeat rate, armaments, fighter compliments…
He knew all that…but he didn't know his own mind. Didn't know why he was here, other than that it was the only place he knew where to be. How to be.
An officer crossed the t-junction to far end of the long battleship-grey corridor and made a double-take at Luke, who had slowed to stand stock still in its center with his hands wrapped about the back of his neck, fingers interlaced… Then the man's expression—his whole demeanor—changed.
He straightened and nodded as he passed, a slight smile on his face. "General."
Dropping his arms Luke inclined his head in wary acknowledgment and set forward, eyes down, uncertain at the man's behavior.
He turned the corner, and had barely made ten paces before another officer turned onto the corridor, glancing up from his datapad—and made that same brief double-glance of recognition, straightening and giving a short nod.
"General."
This time Luke slowed to stare at his back, uncertain what was going on.
"General Antilles."
He turned about as a non-comm passed him in the hallway, making a brief but fuller salute. How the hell did the man know his name? Or his rank? Luke wore a Ubiqtorate uniform—they didn't display standard rank plates on their chest. And what was going on here, that people were treating him like this? This wasn't simply acknowledgment of an officer, it was actual recognition; respect.
He wasn't used to it—or was it just that he wasn't used to it any more? That nine months as a nobody, kicking round in the gutters of endless rim worlds, had led him to expect a very different…no. No, he'd never been acknowledged like this before. He'd been onboard the Executor with Palpatine for months before he'd left, and outside of direct Command Staff, had never been recognized. This was something else entirely.
"General Antilles."
As he passed the next t-junction a junior officer not much older than Luke nodded in polite acknowledgment.
"Wait, stop." Luke took two fast steps to catch up with the man. "You…how do you know me?"
The youth smiled. "It's all over the ship, sir. The man who brought the Relentless back single-handed." He transferred his datapad to one hand, to hold the other out. "I have to say, you did an incredible job, sir. You're the talk of the ship—I'm honored to have met you."
So dazed was Luke that he actually let the man take his hand, before trying to pull away. Undaunted, the officer seemed less than willing to let go. Instead he leaned in, grinning.
"I heard it was your ship at one time, sir—that was the reason you singled the Relentless out. May I ask how you did it, sir? I know you brought it back on pre-programmed EMG systems, but how did you manage to get it free of the Rebels to activate them?"
"Uh," Bemused and barely back in his old life, it still didn't even occur to Luke to tell the truth; Command Protocols were something that weren't admitted to, even within the military. "It was undermanned. I…patched into the main Bridge from secondary, then sealed myself in and vented the rest of the ship to space, to empty it of personnel. It was already undermanned."
He stopped, aware that he was repeating himself. The man nodded, still smiling widely.
"Incredible. I heard you'd been infiltrating the Rebels for months?"
"I…can't say any more."
The man nodded conspiratorially. "Well, I already have a story to tell at dinner, if I may. It's an honor to have met you."
Luke managed to extricate his hand and backed up a step, clenching it to a fist as he turned mechanically about to continue on his way whilst the officer remained still, staring at his back as he walked off.
How had that got out? It wasn't the kind of thing that just leaked. People didn't find out about Hand operations. No-one ever identified Hand operatives; they were invisible. All actions—all—were suppressed, they were censored…they didn't get out. They sure as hell didn't end up spreading round a Star Destroyer in a single morning, like celebrity scuttlebutt. It would take…ah.
A slow smile took the corners of Luke's lips, but went no further, tempered by dry realization; Palpatine. How to make your obviously less-than-one hundred percent committed advocate feel he's made the right decision in returning to fold. How to make him feel like the hero, the crusader. Make him feel instantly accepted amongst his own; appreciated…at home.
Funny…he'd almost missed this kind of mind-play. Almost.
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It was a shock, to walk into the grand office and see the man who leaned over the wide, mirror-polished desk without looking up. Even knowing all that had happened, some part of Luke had still expected to see his old Master as he had always been—a withered and wasted body brought low by age and the demands of the Dark side, on whose cadaverous face flesh hung in dry folds, skin either pale and ashen, or so dark as to seem almost bruised. Back then, his Master had always covered his face with heavy hoods and mantles, remaining in shadows even in the light of day.
But the man who leaned in, forehead resting against his hand in a play of studying his datapad too intently to acknowledge Luke's entrance, was in his prime. His broad shoulders were emphasized by a perfectly tailored jacket of rich, dark fabric, strong hands set off by heavy rings, just-graying hair pulled tightly back to a long tail at the nape of his neck.
Luke wondered briefly whether Palpatine still wore a hood and cloak to disguise his youth from the majority of his own military, or whether even that had now been shucked, to show his renewed form. It occurred to him that he'd heard nothing of what had been happening within Palpatine's coalition since he'd been shut up with the Rebels—though the man before him was still patently in complete control.
Then again no matter what else happened, Luke had never for a moment doubted that.
His Master spoke without looking up, gravelly, disdainful tones instantly familiar. "I see you've returned my Star Destroyer to me."
Still stood to automatic attention, Luke's hands tightened where they were clasped behind his back, as they had been since he'd been admitted to Palpatine's presence without a wait, bracing for the inevitable clash. Mind-games and necessity aside, Palpatine wouldn't let his advocate's betrayal pass without chastisement, though past experience meant that since he hadn't already exploded at the sight of Luke, this might be an altogether slower and more dangerous game.
He kept his voice steady. "As I recall, you seemed to hold me responsible for its loss."
"You believe you were not?" Still his Master didn't look up.
Luke hesitated barely a second…but precisely long enough. "Regardless, it's returned to you, now."
"Ah. Then perhaps you can regain the other sixteen also lost in your absence, since my military seem incapable."
"It was a while before they moved me to a stolen Imperial Destroyer," Luke observed levelly, replying without in any way addressing the greater issue; if Palpatine wasn't minded to push on that right now, then Luke was more than willing to follow his lead. "Once they took me onboard the Relentless it enabled me to utilize Command codes to retrieve it, when the situation became necessary. However I don't think they'd trust me again…do you?"
Palpatine lifted his head to stare at Luke for a long time before he replied quietly, "And therein is the crux of the issue. Because every time that one resorts to extreme actions, they will find they are forever perceived of as a fraction less…reliable."
Luke glanced quickly down, aware that Palpatine wasn't speaking of the Rebels or the Relentless. "I came back, didn't I."
Palpatine pulled another datapad across his desk in apparent concentration, eyes turning to its brightening screen. "When I forced your hand."
"If my hand was forced at any time, then it was when I first left the Executor." Had he said that, so brazenly? He felt his heart pound as he braced for a reaction.
Those broad shoulders dropped back a fraction as Palpatine straightened, chin lifting. "Are you saying that I am the one at fault for your desertion?"
The words, rather than the stance, were too direct a challenge and Luke lowered his head, resolve faltering. "No, Master."
He didn't understand, couldn't figure out as yet how the worst transgression of his entire life—desertion; actual dereliction of duty—hadn't sent Palpatine into a spiraling fit of violent rage the moment Luke had returned.
Instead Palpatine settled just slightly, glancing casually back to his work. "I see your toy soldier survived Corsin. I would be curious to know how." He paused just long enough to turn the bland observation into something more dangerous. "…And where he has been in the interim."
Faced with a threat, Luke felt on safer ground. "I don't know if any fragments of the inter-ship comms leading up to the Rebel attack at Corsin have survived," he bluffed evenly, aware that they had—he'd checked long before now. Still, this would be a thinly-patched arrangement of carefully-honed truths, at best. One which would stand up to casual scrutiny but no greater defense, if his Master chose to look any deeper. "If you searched any which did for voice-match, you'll find out that Lieutenant Solo commed the Conqueror a short time before the Rebel attack began, trying to warn us that it was imminent and incoming. Unfortunately he spoke to Lord Vader. What Lord Vader chose to do with the information is no reflection on Lieutenant Solo. He gave the warning on an official channel and in good faith to the most senior official present. As far as he was aware, he was speaking to a reliable command presence."
"What a perfectly practiced reply," Palpatine said smoothly, head tilting. "I wonder….do you lie quite so readily for me, when you have to?"
Luke looked down, and Palpatine leaned back in his chair to glance away, nails scratching over the thick saddle-stitched hide which covered its ornate arms, voice bored and dismissive. "If you want to keep your yapping little lapdog, then you may do so. But I'd advise you to put him on a short leash and teach him to walk to heel, because the first time he snaps or even bares his little teeth, I will be taking him away from you and teaching him some real lessons in obedience…" Palpatine paused, coolly civil. "Remember that—remember, when you're convincing yourself that I'm at fault for reacting, that I told you my position and the limits of my tolerance, and you chose to keep him here anyway. Remember it when I return him to you…a piece at a time."
And there it was; the old Sith Luke knew so well. A new face, a new body, tall and straight and in its prime…but the same old festering vehemence lay coiled within it, barbed with familiar threats and manipulations.
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Palpatine narrowed his eyes as he looked to the wary youth who stood to stiff attention before him, threats bouncing off that calm demeanor. He'd thought long and hard on this—on whether to cut his losses, or invest.
The unpalatable truth was that he needed a capable advocate more than ever, right now. And the boy was certainly that. Being without him, and forced to rely on the barely-trained Mara and Shira in his absence, had noticeably curtailed the timetable for Palpatine's ongoing plans and underlined his need for a Sith disciple.
But the old methods by which he had always controlled the unruly side of the boy's nature were no longer viable, a mix of the youth's passage into adulthood, Palpatine's enforced absence, and the corruption of a year spent out in the galaxy alone at this crucial stage of his advocate's development.
He had options of course, should his hold on the youth fail entirely. But all would take time to assemble and invoke. So he found himself, ironically, in the same position that he had with boy's father, at Mustafar. Given the choice, he would have left Anakin on the bank of the lava flow to die…but his campaign had been at a critical juncture, and he had needed an advocate—a Sith he himself had molded and shaped. And despite limitations, having gained control of Anakin the arrangement had been functional for almost two decades; exploitable. He doubted that it would be necessary to rely on Anakin's son for such a length of time, if his greater plans came to fruition…but for now, he needed the boy. On so many levels and for so many reasons.
Still, it was patently obvious that the dynamics of their relationship had changed, and in order to gain the control he needed Palpatine was aware that it would be necessary to refine his own actions accordingly.
So he forced a thin smile. "However… Solo's presence here is not the issue, for now. He may stay...if you wish. But he is to be told nothing. His security clearances are rescinded, unless he is accompanying you. You will make that decision, as to what he can be trusted with." He paused, looking to test the waters closer to home. "It is, as I have already explained to you, your own unwarranted actions which give rise to…doubt."
"If you want me to leave, say so."
"Leave? You misunderstand." Palpatine rose smoothly and walked round his desk's edge, fingers trailing its cool, polished surface. There was a time when the boy would have retreated a step; now he held his ground, jaw flexing.
Eyes narrowing, Palpatine continued. "Why do you think I would allow a Sith who was not absolutely and unconditionally loyal to me, to live?"
The youth's chin lifted a fraction, still determined not to show fear—but then Palpatine himself had beaten that precise mind-set into him over the years. Perhaps that had been a…miscalculation.
"You forced my hand," Antilles said stiffly. "You pushed and pushed, to breaking point. You always do."
Palpatine's fingernails tacked in brief staccato on the desk he stood beside, annoyance scorching the edges of his restraint. "You broke incorrectly."
"You wanted a reaction—you got one. You made that choice to push."
"I moved to limit damage in a situation that was already out of control…through your actions. You knew the restrictions inherent in your position."
"I have a life. It's not a position, it's a life. And it's mine, not yours. I came back because I…I know that this is where I belong. I know that." His eyes blazed, sense resolute. "But you don't own me. Let's make that clear; I'm not a child any more."
"Are you placing conditions on your return?"
"…No."
"Do you wish her recalled to the fold?" They both knew of whom he spoke.
"No." The boy didn't hesitate—but then he was likely aware of the test. "I don't ever want to see her again."
His face and sense remained unfalteringly neutral, eyes not wavering beneath Palpatine's close scrutiny. Turning away, Palpatine kept his voice casual.
"The network of undercover operatives who worked directly under my command have either scattered or re-appropriated. To be forced to contact any of them now, at a distance and without being able to confirm their ongoing loyalties, would risk tipping our hand too soon. Until I regain complete control on Coruscant I have limited or no access to deep-cover intelligence assets, leaving me effectively blind. I needed an operative in the Rebel nest whom I could trust."
"Why did you send Mara and not Shira?"
Another brief smile twitched Palpatine's lip at the boy's naivety. "Ah, my pretty little Shira is too ambitious by far. One should keep one's friends close…and one's enemies closer."
"And which am I?"
"Only you know that, child."
The silence stretched for long moments…but a lifetime of indoctrination moved the boy to speak. "My loyalties are here. They always have been…you made very sure of that."
"Can you blame me? I saw a child with incandescent power…either I killed him, or I tamed him. You would have done the same."
"Not as you did."
For every threat, Antilles pushed back. Intimidation had always been the basis of their relationship, but the boy had walked on hot coals for too long, and his skin had toughened to the heat. A new dynamic, Palpatine reminded himself. A subtler game.
"Stand by me. Even in our darkest hour you always stood at your Master's shoulder."
Antilles' brow twitched down, confusion and resentment evident. "You always pushed me back."
"I pushed you to excel."
"You tried to break me."
"I tried to make you more than you knew was possible…yet still you fought me. I ask more of you than any other, yes, but only because you are capable of more. We are Sith, you and I. We rise above all lesser beings."
A shadow crossed the youth's face, blue eyes flitting to the side. "I'm…not…sure any more."
"I am sure. And that is enough. Stay, and I will give you purpose again."
"To live in your shadow?"
"No. To stand at my shoulder." Having reached the boy, Palpatine tipped his head to look down on him, voice dripping indulgence. "You had such faith once, child."
Luke didn't raise his gaze. "You bled it dry."
"I made you strong. The greatest trees are hollow within…that is how they weather every storm."
The boy shook his head slowly, frustration and resentment and confusion simmering. He was just barely under control, Palpatine knew. At the very edge of his tolerance, despite his return.
He needed more, to hold this emerging Sith. To bind him back to his Master with as much zeal as the boy wasted on all these petty associations which Palpatine had warned his charge again and again would cripple him as they had his father. These glaring weaknesses which—
Realization, when it struck, was magnificent. Sublime. The art of machination; to transform a petty, mundane hindrance into an opportunity. More—an advantage.
Solo. The insolent, ill-mannered, presumptuous lout who had defied all odds in not only managing to stay inconveniently alive, but having done so, had the temerity to assume that he could simply re-assume his position at the very apex of Imperial authority and dominion!
And based on what? On his confidence that his connection to Antilles would protect him. He hadn't returned here before; only now, when he had his own personal and very effective power base.
Palpatine knew, of course, that the Corellian whom he'd first allowed close to Antilles as a test of his advocate's resolve, was totally devoid of Imperial loyalty—that had been the very point. But despite what were clearly objectionable or even treasonous actions on Solo's behalf, the boy still valued his association with Solo to the point that he'd argue with his own Master to protect it.
That—that—was the relationship! The exact unbendable, obdurate loyalty that Palpatine wished to rekindle within the boy in relation to himself.
But to do so, he needed a model. An example. A pattern to study and emulate. And what better way to gain that, than to watch the dynamic firsthand? To analyze exactly the tone he needed to set in his interactions with the youth, in order to mimic it, in the boy's eyes…
And then replace it. Entirely, and permanently.
Palpatine fought to hold back the smile which would give so much away, because how patent the answer, once seen. How easily implemented.
As he had done so often in the past, he brought up his hand to wrap strong fingers about the back of his advocate's neck, pulling him closer, invading the boy's personal space by force…
It had always been a reliable mechanism to break Antilles' line of thought. Had accomplished more, at times, than the most severe beatings—though they had been more satisfying, to Palpatine at least. But now, he brought Luke's resisting head to rest at the join of his shoulder and neck, in an almost brotherly gesture.
No, things could not return to the way they were, if he wished to retain control—Antilles had made that very clear in his own inimitable way. But given a prototype, a model on which to base future interactions, they could be reshaped. And now, with Solo's return, he had just that. He knew exactly, precisely, what the boy sought, worthless as it was:
"As you grew I sought to be what a child needed; I was your guardian, your patron. I was strength and authority, the challenge to excel. Now, I see that you are no longer a child. Now we are compatriots. Comrades. Allies." He kept his voice quiet, sincere, utterly benign. "Now we are brothers."
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The Death Star would be ready to bring online ahead of schedule, a gratifying report, by any standards. Sufficiently so that the knowledge of it brought the brief twitch of a smile to Palpatine's lips as he walked the empty corridor onboard his Super Star Destroyer, features concealed beneath a deep cowl.
It could have been utilized at less than full capacity under the protection of the Executor, but as Antilles had said, it was only fitting that the Emperor return to Coruscant in a manner suited to his status. A manner suited to his intentions, and his nature, and his entitlement.
Its unveiling from the protective cocoon of the shielded Fondor Military Shipyards would mark the start of the new Empire—his new Empire. When the fleet left Fondor with a Super Star Destroyer as a flagship and a Death Star as an emblem of Imperial power—his power—its unveiling would shake his enemies to their cores. He would cut a swathe through all detractors. He would write his name in fire across entire star systems, 'lest they ever again forget who truly ruled. And rule he would—he would start again; rebuild, reorganize, restructure. Raze and tear down anything which stood in his way, fuel to the fire.
Such energy. To be so young of body and yet so veterate of mind. Such drive. Such hunger. Such power…
Tempered by something equally valuable: experience.
Because all this vitality—the knowledge that he could recreate this youthful state at will… it could so easily make him feel invulnerable. But age, ah, it whispered the truth that youth would so recklessly dismiss. The fresh blood which sang through these veins believed itself invincible, as all youth did. But that whisper…that whisper of experience said, Nearly.
Nearly invulnerable. Nearly immortal.
To rule a galaxy was no longer enough…when he could potentially rule it forever.
But his guarantee of immortality lay vulnerable, its secret breached. By allies, yes…but he had left his only viable clones on Rhen Var. And that was unacceptable.
He could grow more, of course. The facility at Byss had come online just months before Palpatine's death at Corsin, equipped with both Kaminoan and Spaarti cylinders, enabling fast and slow-grown clones. Spaarti clones were unreliable, but they would suffice, if necessary. The facility lacked just one thing: the genetic material to seed them had not yet been delivered, so the cloning chambers lay empty, awaiting activation. He could provide such material from his cloned body, of course…but there was always the danger of shortened telomeres and genomic imprinting. Such things became apparent only with repeated clone-to-clone prototyping, but it may be imperative at some time in the future to resort to cloning pre-clone cells, and each generation brought him closer to the danger of degradation.
Youth…ah, reckless youth would have told him to take the risk, to send a team to destroy the entire Rhen Var facility and begin again on Byss, when he had regained the throne and Coruscant. Rhen Var was compromised, and he was just months from a triumphant return to power on Coruscant. Weeks, even. The fiery glory of youth which stood straight and strong was all too ready to take that risk…
But, oh…the whisper of experience said no. That part of himself that had lived and died and remembered the void, whispered, No.
No risks, however small.
He would retrieve the viable clones and the invaluable original somatic cells from their compromised position, then split the existing clones up and move them to safer hides, until the new Byss facility which had received the original somatic cell samples was fully online—a year at the absolute minimum. Then he would destroy the Rhen Var clones himself, to be sure that none could be birthed and corrupted to be used as a weapon against him.
Zero risk.
It required an editing of his plans, of course. A brief diversion to Rhen Var; an incursion into Rebel space to retrieve them. He trusted no-one but himself in this; wished as little of his new fleet to be involved as possible, but at the same time he needed to ensure security. A balancing act, then; he himself leading the incursion, with the details—the truth as to why—not disseminated…and with the flagship of his fleet to cocoon him—more, if he could engineer it.
He had allowed himself to be vulnerable once, at Corsin, and paid the price. He would not make the same mistake again.
And a brief excursion into Rebel-held territory may be a useful thing. A fitting launch destination for the formidable nucleus of his new fleet; show the rabble what their future held, once he had reclaimed Coruscant. Let them quake a little, those planets who had dared to cross him. Let them see their fate and comprehend how closely their wellbeing and their loyalty were entwined.
And the ability to edit one's plans on every level was what had always set the Generals apart from the soldiers. Victors from the vanquished. It was only by constant modification that one achieved success; re-calculating, re-editing, corrections, modifications. Plans must be adjusted and tuned, played to perfection. It was the way of things; when one aspect of the greater plan changed, then all others must amend and mutate, to allow for the disparity. It was no hardship, simply a necessity of power.
Palpatine walked the long grey corridor with neither associates nor bodyguards, the requirements of this present adjustment to his plans demanding utmost privacy. His advocate and the Corellian had been reassigned to their old quarters onboard the Executor, and though Palpatine had never once before deigned to come here, he knew the way.
His decision to come tonight would likely make its way back to Antilles soon enough, through the most direct of means, he was sure. But for now he had made sure that, back onboard the Executor and under Palpatine's watchful eye, the boy had a thousand minor tasks awaiting, all of which drew on both his energy and attention. Fleet movements, security reassessment, ream upon ream of updated intel and mission briefings. He'd even ordered a medical to be scheduled, given the youth's absence—for his own benefit, rather than his advocate's—but it all took time.
And, carefully buried within the pile, was it's true intention: it took Antilles away from the Corellian, who had also been relocated close to Antilles' quarters onboard the Executor.
Left the man alone; easy prey. So vulnerable, in fact, that Palpatine could remove this small thorn tonight, if he so chose—quickly; cleanly… but he wouldn't. There were larger games in play, and with any direct threat to the Corellian having already been withheld by Palpatine, Antilles would likely choose to let matters rest with no further action.
Still, Solo was the disparity which must be absorbed and utilized within the greater plan. An irritation which the cognizant could exploit.
Machination; the art within manipulation.
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Han threaded a finger behind the high collar of his Imperial-issue uniform jacket in the privacy of his own quarters, loosening its fastening now that he was alone. He'd forgotten how incredibly hot and itchy and just wholesale uncomfortable the damn things were.
A few days into his unexpected return, it still felt more than a little bizarre to be here. Not just here—though that was bad enough. But right back here in the thick of it, at the very axis of the Imperial remnant…onboard the Executor, no less—a Super Star Destroyer!
And with the Emperor himself haunting the halls…that was surreal.
He hadn't seen him, of course. Subtly-dropped questions here and there among other officers had revealed the fact that practically no-one did—and pretty much everyone seemed happy with that arrangement. The few bridge and security personnel who had seen him expressly didn't want to talk about it.
What they did seem very interested in—weirdly so, in fact—was the kid's return. Or rather, the reason for his absence—the real one, as opposed to the 'setup for an undercover mission' yarn that seemed to have been widely disseminated. Also weird was the general consensus among the Brass, which seemed to be to keep typically tight-lipped about everything going on here, cliques within cliques…until they found out who Han was. Or more specifically, until they found out that he was with Luke. Then there was an instant but measurable loosening of the tight circles of those same high-ranking officers who had previously regarded him with distant suspicion. Suddenly, they were the ones pumping him for information:
What had really happened, that General Antilles had left that way? Was there some kind of split in the hierarchy? Dissent, at the highest level?
Onboard any ship on a long tour of duty, scuttlebutt ran riot—there wasn't much else to entertain you. But this felt different; bigger… He couldn't pull it together yet. There was a pretty damn understandable reticence to talk straight, given the men in question and their ranks, but despite Luke's usual cagy reserve when speaking to other officers, as the kid's main military aide Han had received an inordinate amount of requests—strictly verbal—to speak with the kid.
Luke, of course, had dismissed any and all as curiosity, or attempts to curry favor, both of which he knew well from a childhood in the Imperial palace…but this felt different to Han. This felt like it had an objective, however veiled. There was a nervousness throughout the ship, a thread of brittle disquiet that set even Han on edge, and brought to mind with unsettling clarity the first time he'd heard that tak-tak-tak of the Emperor's black cane across the marble-floored grandeur of the War Room, in the Imperial Palace on Coruscant.
He twitched, dispelling the unease which shuddered through him at that.
Behind him the door slid open with a near-silent hiss and he turned, expecting to see Luke, the one person he'd ever met who seemed to think it was okay to simply walk into someone's private quarters like they…
The man who stepped into the room was tall; only an inch shorter than Han, though he somehow contrived to give the impression of standing on eye level, wide shoulders and athletic bearing obvious even hidden beneath the long, inky black cloak and cowl he wore.
Han stared, resisting the temptation to take an instinctive step backwards as the man's presence filled the room. He knew—he knew damn well who he was looking at, here. He'd like to have thought that it was only the unwilling impulse to make an automatic bow that tensed his muscles right now, or even the realization that he was effectively stood in the presence of a dead man…but this yellow-eyed son of a nek had always possessed a coldly menacing edge which fired every trigger of fight or flight in Han.
Still, he held his ground, lifting his chin a fraction as the door whispered closed, confining the two of them in what felt to Han, very suddenly, like a constricted space.
Hands, adorned with weighty rings lifted to slip beneath the cowl and push it back, and Han held his breath, bracing.
The man beneath… Han stared, momentarily lost, uncertain how to react. Despite being in his presence several times he'd never really seen the old Emperor; the man had always preferred to hide himself in the shadows of a heavy cowl. But Han had gotten the impression of age and decay. Of a body bent and spent by the effort of gaining and holding his Empire. Somehow, knowing who this was and despite everything that Luke had warned, he'd expected the same, even now. Expected an ageing crone with sallow skin and wasted teeth and gravelly, grating voice.
This…this was a man in his prime. Close to Han's age, his skin was pale but unmarked, his shoulders wide and straight, long near-black hair pulled tightly back to form a high widow's peak.
Gone was the stoop and the cane which tak-tak-takked, that constant and disconcerting soundtrack tothe inscrutable unseen enigma which compressed and bent the very air about it. The threat here wasn't some imagined specter, it was physical, observable. Deliberate. And those eyes…those unnerving yellow eyes still glowed preternaturally, sharp and penetrating and superior. Seeing everything, judging instantly. Disturbingly clear windows to a self-serving soul.
Han raised an eyebrow; so some things hadn't changed.
Thin lips twitched in brief amusement as those eyes hooded just a fraction. "Lieutenant Solin."
His voice was the same; same tone of arrogant superiority and utter disdain that at their very first meeting on Coruscant, had purposely mispronounced Han's name.
"Solo," Han corrected. "Still Solo."
He hadn't intentionally left off the honorific, but as those hard ocher eyes remained on him, Han realized what he'd done and for a brief, stomach-churning moment recognized that he didn't even know what he was supposed to call the man any more. Was he still supposed to bow to a man who held no official rank, but every possible entitlement? It was patently too late, even had he felt the inclination, which he didn't. But that expectant gaze still held him, and he glanced at his feet, murmuring a quick, "Sir."
"Hn." Voicing a grunt of satisfaction, the man studied Han openly. "It seems that like a rat, Lieutenant Solin, you have nine lives."
"I think that's a cat," Han drawled, the first trace of offence beginning to overtake his initial apprehension.
That mordant smile twitched again in self-amusement. "Ah. Slip of the tongue."
Han held still. Getting himself into an argument with the Emperor himself onboard a Super Star Destroyer seemed the definition of stupidity, even to him.
The man—Palpatine—started forward, yellow eyes going to the high, lozenge-shaped viewport as he passed Han to stand before it, staring out across the hull of the immense Super Star Destroyer, its ashen grey edge knifing into the true blackness of space beyond.
"You have questions," he said, back remaining to the room.
"No Sir," Han denied.
"No?" Palpatine turned a fraction, head tilting. "Odd. I have them for you…Lieutenant."
"I'm pretty damn sure you know where I've been…Sir." Han felt his chest tighten as it occurred to him only now that he was alone; no Luke to bail him out. If Palpatine wanted to arrest, maim or kill him, this was his opportunity. Coincidence…or engineered?
"I do," Palpatine nodded. "…and yet here you are, again. With my advocate. Believing that enough to protect you." Those wide shoulders straightened as Palpatine turned, eyes hardening as his lip lifted to a sneer. He seemed to grow as he did so, cold, calculating outrage increasing that already intimidating presence. "You actually have the temerity to suppose that you can step back into the power and privilege of your old life, because he will protect you….and I will let him."
Han stood his ground, every muscle wired. "See, that's where you've got it wrong. I don't want him to protect me…I'm here to protect him." From you. The insinuation was unspoken but obvious.
"And the fact that associating with Antilles affords you the kind of privilege you could never otherwise hope to come close to attaining, has no bearing," Palpatine said in amused disbelief.
"You think I'm back here so I can stand on a Star Destroyer and play soldiers with people's lives for my own gain?"
"Aren't you?"
"I realize that claiming this is asking you to step so far outside of your comfort zone that it's a distant dot, but I don't give a damn about your power-plays—except in how they effect Luke."
Probably shouldn't have said that out loud, Han reflected. But hey, the man could read his thoughts anyway.
As it was, Palpatine stared for long seconds, head tilting slightly in close examination before he nodded slowly. "Ah, your little brother. Is that how you think of him?"
There was an invitation to his tone which puzzled Han, but given sanction to voice his opinion, he didn't shy back. "No-one's given a flying damn for him a single day of his entire life, you've made sure of that…Sir. You know, he can't even hold a normal conversation any more. You've got him so messed up that he doesn't even know how to…just..interact with other people. What d'you think gives you the right to do that?"
"What do you believe gives you the right to interfere?"
"With what? You grinding him into submission?"
"Then you wish to take control of him yourself."
"… What? No! I want…I want him to have control of himself. I want him to actually think he can do that, without messing up. That's what you've got him believing, isn't it? That he can't exist without you. That the only way to avoid screwing anything and everything in his entire life up, is to defer to you every damn time."
"He has autonomy enough."
"As long as it suits your needs…Sir. And if it doesn't, that's okay 'cos you already have a thousand little power-plays hidden in there to chip away at him, until he doesn't even know what he thinks any more."
"And what do you tell him you would you have him be? What do you want for him?"
"I just told you, I want him to not be afraid to live his own life."
"Even if that life is here? Serving me."
Han clamped his jaw, frustration firing.
"Ah, then there are conditions," Palpatine pushed.
"The kid is what he is, not what you want him to be," Han held. "He'll see that eventually."
"He is what I am," Palpatine corrected. "He is Sith. Are you telling me that you don't judge him, even in that?"
Han straightened a fraction. "I'm here, aren't I."
"He has the same powers that I hold…you understand? Can you even begin to comprehend the vastness of the galaxy in which we exist, compared to your dismal existence? You look at him and you see a boy—a brother, no less;the most insolent presumption. You don't understand—how could you? We transcend. This…crude matter which you must drag through your sad, constrained little life; we surpass it. Did he tell you that? Did he tell you that he too can be immortal—he can conquer the death which will eventually take you and all of your kind, no matter how you rail against it?"
The revelation stunned Han to silence. It had never even occurred to him before; that the kid might be able to do what Palpatine had. Luke had never once admitted to it—but then he always played down all his abilities, didn't he? Masked them or smothered them.
Those pale, thin lips taunted with another empty smile. "He could be, by his own choice, immortal. What does your petty little soul have, that could come between two such beings?"
Han stared, speechless for a long time in the face of the chasm that the claim presented…but realization slowly surfaced from the depths of doubt, and knowledge of it gave him voice: "Faith," he said categorically. "Friendship. Belief. Hope. When have you ever given him any, for even one damn second?"
"And you think these flimsy little musings of equal value to all that I can offer?"
"It's not what I think that counts. In case you hadn't noticed, all that you can offer wasn't enough to hold Luke here."
"It was enough to bring him back to me."
"Only after all his options were…" Han trailed off, realization widening his eyes. "You did it, didn't you?! You somehow arranged those deaths so it would look like Luke had done it!" For a brief, triumphant second, his thoughts went to Leia; to her relief, when he told her. Her dogged faith in Luke, her—
He blinked, breaking the thought in the fraction of a moment. No; stay focused on now. That was what the kid had taught him; keep your thoughts on what's safe. Concentrate: now; right now. "Does Luke know?"
For a second Palpatine stared, and Han's heart made a single, heavy thud beneath his ribs, for fear of being called…then those ocher eyes flicked aside as Palpatine's features bled into an unsettlingly familiar thin, satisfied smile. "Of course he knows. But the truth remains the truth, no matter how harshly it is communicated."
"Even when that truth is that you had to lie and kill, to get him back?"
"You say that as if it as a bad thing, Lieutenant. It merely demonstrates the strength of my commitment—the boy understands that." Palpatine nodded slowly, his conviction absolute. "Thank you; this has been…educational, in more ways than I had anticipated. I confess, I had felt a trifle unsettled by your reappearance. Now…I have confidence that all will proceed as I have planned."
It was Han's turn to narrow his eyes. "Yeah, 'cos the kid really is that predictable to you, right? That whole stealin' a Star Destroyer from your fleet and heading off to Rishi, that was all part of the plan, wasn't—" He broke off, regretting his taunt; making this man uncertain of Luke's loyalty could only tighten the screws further.
But in fact Palpatine grinned—the first genuine smile that Han had seen on him…
And it was all-hells scary.
"You misunderstand, Lieutenant. For a brief moment, I actually feared that you might be able to take him from me. That perhaps an inability to comprehend or a natural disinclination to mimic what you so naïvely offer him, might cause me to lose him. But it is so blindingly uncomplicated. So utterly obvious. So very mundane. I am not threatened by you, because you will never take the boy from me, much as you try. It will never happen because in the end, your intentions suffer a fundamental flaw: you are simply not willing to go as far as the situation demands."
"I'm not willing to rip the kid apart entirely just to get what I want out of him, no."
"Call it what you wish. It remains the reason that you will fail. Because I am willing to push him to that degree, every time. To take that risk, on his behalf."
Han nodded, finally seeing the source of the kid's most ingrained trait. "All or nothin', huh?"
Again that smile, full of self-congratulation. "All or nothing. If you push the boy hard enough, he eventually shatters spectacularly…as he did onboard the Rebel Destroyer, just before returning to me. I quite enjoy the spectacle, to tell the truth."
"I'll bet you do," Han growled. "But just remember in the back of your head, whilst you're watching the show—remember that sooner or later you're gonna choose the wrong fight, the wrong risk, and he's gonna turn just as spectacularly…on you."
That grin widened, to show the pearl-white teeth of a true predator. "Or you, Lieutenant Solo."
The door slid silently back and Palpatine lifted his hood as he stepped into the battleship gray corridor beyond, that impressive frame somehow instantly hidden; an anonymous shadow who stepped just a little too lightly down hallways that seemed to darken a fraction with his passing… leaving Han alone, listening to the pounding rush of his own hyped heart.
"…. Well at least he got my name right."
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With no other seat available, Mara dropped down into the shuttle seat next to another 'tech whilst the ramp lifted and the door closed and sealed, popping her ears as the cabin compressed for flight.
She'd hoped to find a two-seat to herself, or at the very least a crew member who wasn't talkative, but the woman smiled instantly, plump cheeks rounding as she tucked her loosely curled brown hair behind her ear.
"Hey. Uh…I know you. You were from the Pride, right?"
Mara turned a fraction, taking in the 'tech's round face and open smile. "Yeah. You were one of the snub fighter's ground crew."
"Kai, yeah. Wild few weeks, huh—you know, the Pride and everything. Did you get off on a shuttle?"
Mara glanced down, tempted to indicate her low opinion of the inane question by stating that no, she hadn't gotten off, she was still there…but the woman was only trying to make small talk, and it didn't do to single herself out here with too dry a persona, so she glanced away. "Yeah."
The 'tech—Kai—leaned in, and Mara felt a brief, intense flare of fractured recognition; something… It hit her a second later; it was the scent. The 'tech had been smoking spice recently. It smelled bitter…it smelled of Luke.
"You know," the woman said quietly, "I heard who did it—who took the Pride."
Mara turned, suddenly intensely interested. "Who?"
"Well, it's only a rumor. In fact, I kinda wonder whether it was the Brass trying to cover the fact that he'd been onboard. You know—double-bluff, that kinda deep epsionage stuff."
"Who was it?"
"We were talking about it—the Rogues—and we wondered if it was to re-set his cover. Invent a reason for his having been onboard a Rebel ship, when he's supposed to be Imperial. I mean, there's no other reasonable explanation for how just one guy could commandeer a whole Star Destroyer, right?"
"Who are you talking about?" Mara was one step from grabbing the woman and shaking her.
The 'tech glanced aside then leaned in further, voice lowering. "There was a Rebel agent onboard the Pride. It was all very hush-hush, because he normally worked behind Imperial lines. We knew him—the Rogues. We knew him pretty well. He—"
"Did he tell you that?"
"What, that he was an agent? No, they don't ever admit to that kinda thing, that's what Wedge said."
"He wasn't a Rebel. He was Imperial."
Kai stared for a second…then shook her head. "No…you didn't know him. He wasn't Imperial."
Mara glared at the back of the seat in front of her. If there'd been any other seat in the damn shuttle she would have stood and walked to it right now, despite the short hop over to her new assignment onboard the Ardent being halfway there, already. But there wasn't. And she should stay, anyway. She should stay right here and feed the woman—someone who clearly couldn't keep her mouth shut—damning information that she knew her master wanted disseminated about Luke, to cut his ties here irrevocably. She should do that…
"Maybe you're right," she murmured quietly at last.
She feigned sleep the rest of the journey, as much as she could—as much as the chatty 'tech would let her.
But no matter how unwillingly, her mind kept drifting back to Luke. To what she'd done, on Palpatine's command. When she'd spoken face to face with her master just days before she'd left on assignment—long before he'd known where Luke had run to—he'd coaxed with hushed and somber tones that he needed Mara to comport herself with the professional manner that he had previously believed her capable of, for Antilles' sake as much as her own. When she returned Antilles would likely be back already, he'd claimed, giving her the opportunity to exemplify her maturity and her worth, by taking it upon herself to bring her ill-advised dalliance with him to a decisive end, of her own will. Then it may at least help Antilles to come to the same realization. There was but one focus, he'd underlined, and that was to secure his Empire. Other petty asides could not be tolerated. When she'd remained silent, the lockjam in her throat swelling, he'd allowed that perhaps in the future, when the Empire was more stable, allowances might be made…
It was a falsehood, of course. An empty concession made to ease the hard facts. And knowledge of that had made it so much harder when she'd finally come face to face with Luke, knowing what she must do. That much harder again, when he'd made the offer that they both simply slip away into anonymity.
Had it been cruel then, to succumb one last time in the hushed secrecy of a familiar hideaway, onboard a stolen Star Destroyer? It had been, for her, the last meal of the condemned, one final flare of a doomed and dying comet as it fell to earth.
It was over. Over.
So why did she still wear a tattered foil ring on a thong about her neck?
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She allowed herself to be nudged awake by the 'tech when the shuttle set down in the new Destroyer's bay, and walked down the ramp onto the flight deck of what would be her new home for the foreseeable future, eyes tracking the middle distance of the busy hangar…
It had been hard, to manipulate her reassignment to where Palpatine had ordered—very hard. By necessity, the personnel from the Destroyer that Luke had reclaimed—a fact that still both amused and secretly, in her heart of hearts, impressed Mara—had been spread far and wide across the Rebel fleet. Having slipped amongst them with the cover-story of a technician whose last legitimate job had been civilian maintenance of door and comms systems on some low-level Imperial military hub on Teyr, she had the kind of wide-ranging technical skill-set that could prove useful on any ship, from automated sewage plants up to ship-wide comms and starfighters. She could, effectively, serve anywhere. Which meant that the very thing which had helped to blend her into the background when she'd first arrived among them, had made it so much more difficult to fulfill her new mandate. But she'd done it; she'd been reassigned to the Destroyer Ardent, one of the Rebel fleet's few Mon Cal battlecruisers, financed through their increasing control of the Rim regions.
As she crossed the bay of her new objective, her eyes tracked for familiar faces…and there, stood beneath an X-wing in deep discussion with its pilot, petite frame instantly recognizable to Mara even with her back turned, was the Rebel Jedi Leia Skywalker.
Mara glanced for barely a second without breaking her stride, then let her eyes drift on, apparently uninterested. But her thoughts lingered on two things; firstly, Palpatine's directive that Mara was to avoid the Rebel Jedi at all costs, despite his initial command assigning her to the Jedi's previous base-ship, and with the breakdown of that situation, here…
And secondly, Luke's face when they'd spoken onboard the Kathol's Pride, those unexpected blue eyes sharp and shrewd: "Your mission…was it to get close to the Jedi, Leia Skywalker?"
At the time she'd dismissed it, as Palpatine had done with her when she'd raised the subject prior to departing. The Rebel's troublesome pet Jedi would of course be onboard one of the few Rebel ships worthy of infiltrating, meaning that Mara had been the one assigned the mission specifically because her Force training would enable her to avoid the Jedi's suspicion, as no other could. It made perfect tactical sense.
But with the dissolution of the Pride's crew, of all the ships in the Rebel fleet, he'd ordered Mara here. Alongside Leia Skywalker.
And yes, there was a logic to it. The crew of the rebel flagship Home One were subject to intense background scrutiny, and among the few other Mon-Cal Battlecruiser-designation Destroyers that the Rebels held, the Ardent was well-placed in terms of rank, technology and reputation, which made it as obvious a choice for their resident Jedi as it would be for an Imperial infiltration agent.
Still… there were no such things as coincidences—not in her master's world.
Mara frowned, thinking again of Luke's question about Leia Skywalker… Considering the manner of his escape from the Rebels, which had scattered the crew of the Kathol's Pride far and wide, separating Mara from the Rebel Jedi entirely, had she not worked every possible angle to gain a place onboard the Ardent, as instructed.
And she wondered; given his training…were there coincidences in Luke's world, either?
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